The brightness of face that had ever made him so lovable, came unbidden, there in the glow.
"I suppose I'll have to go," he presently admitted, "if it's only to win your girl."
"Shake," said Fenton; and they shook.
CHAPTER II
AN UNEXPECTED OUTBURST
The sea is an ancient worker of miracles in amazing transformation, but rarely does it bring about a more complete or startling metamorphosis than that which was wrought upon Grenville—trusted messenger for a friend.
Long before the shores of Cathay loomed welcomely upon his vision he had lost all sense of weariness or depression, and likewise all that worn and gaunt appearance of a large, thin frame inhabited by a dogged but thoroughly exhausted spirit.
He was once more his strong, bold, interested self, merry of speech, bright-eyed, untamed in his buoyant nature, lovable, thoughtful of those about him, impetuous, and never to be repressed. He had flirted uninterruptedly with all the old women and the children on the outward voyage, and was now as cheerfully repeating this gay performance on the steamship "Inca," homeward bound, on which he was certainly the favorite of the crew and his fellow-passengers.
The fortnight passed with Elaine upon the sea had been wholly uneventful, save for the vast commotion astir in Grenville's being. The worst that could happen, he told himself, had happened. His daily deportment towards his charge had baffled, piqued, and amused that young lady alternately, and convinced her that here was a brand-new specimen of the genus man with which she had never had a genuine experience.